“So yeah. I am not hiring him. No way.” I sipped the last of the wine and poured myself another. I was a bit of a lightweight, but this was a two-glasses-of-wine kind of night.
“Why not? I would. Then you could stare at him all day and pretend it’s for work.”
But how would I get any actual work done?
I sighed and decided to change the subject.
“What are you making?”
“Truffle mac, garlic asparagus, and mango sticky rice for dessert.” In addition to being a fashion genius, Sloane was also an unbelievable cook. She was one of those people who was good at everything she tried. I always told her that she needed to open up her own restaurant, but she didn’t want to. Her heart and soul were in fashion. Cooking was just a hobby.
I used to try to help, but Sloane is a bit of a control freak, and I hadn’t been able to master her stirring technique, even after all the years I’d been trying. So I sat at the bar and rested my forehead against the cool of the granite countertop.
“So you want to go out on Friday? Open mic night at the bar.” She just calls it the bar, because it’s the one we frequent. Any other place is called by name.
“Listening to douches with guitars that think they can sing and girls with too many feelings trying to pour them into crappy lyrics? I am there,” I said, raising my head.
“Oh come on. You’re not still upset about King Douchebag, are you?” Sloane had started calling my ex that, because of the whole cheating thing. It made me laugh, and it was an accurate portrayal, so I called him that too.
“Not really. I just . . . I miss being in a relationship. I miss having something to look forward to. A reason to get pretty.”
“Babe, you don’t need to get pretty for anyone but yourself. How many times have I told you that?”
“Too many to count.” It was true that I could live very easily without a man, and had done so for nearly my entire college career. I’d been too focused on working my way up in the company and maintaining my GPA to deal with guys.
“So we’ll get pretty, you’ll borrow something from my new collection, and we’ll go out and have a girl’s night. Just us. Oh, and Marisol. And Chloe,” she said, taking one of the pots off the heat as she mentioned the other two girls in our little friend group. I’d always found it funny that girls seemed to hang out in groups of four, but it worked.
Through some strange coincidence, all four of us were currently single. That had never happened, and we were taking full advantage of it, having as much fun without worrying about men as possible. Or women, in Chloe’s case.
“I’m in,” I said, finally smiling as she held out a spoon for me to taste.
“That’s my girl. Now, back to this Lucas fellow. I want details, and I want them right now.”
This was going to be one of those nights.
~*~*~
After I told Sloane any and every detail of Mr. Lucas Blaine, down to this earring and chin dimple (mmm . . .), I made her let me off the hook by putting in a movie and volunteering to paint her toenails. And, of course, there was more wine involved.
“Have you ever, you know, thought about doing a no strings attached kind of thing? Just to scratch that itch?” she said as I added topcoat with precision.
“Not really. I don’t know if I could have sex with someone without getting my emotions into it. I have a tendency to bond with whoever I’m having sex with.”
Sloane raised her eyebrow, because we both knew that was an understatement.
“Okay, okay. I have issues where that’s concerned, but I don’t think a fuck buddy is going to help any.”
“No, but it would get you laid. I mean, can you imagine how many guys would want to rock your world? Enough to start a waiting list, that’s how many.”
“But they just want to sleep with me to get at my money, or to get to my dad, or whatever.” Been there, done that.
“Well, why don’t you invent a secret identity? Dress down and have a new name and then they wouldn’t know. You could just be a regular girl.”
I’d tried that too. In college for a little while I’d gone by my first and middle name, becoming Rory Abigail, but people had found out anyway. You can’t hide who you are, as much as you try. I’d need witness protection and a serious makeover.
“I don’t know. Maybe being alone will be good for me. I can . . . pick up some new hobbies. Maybe try hot yoga. Or knitting. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that.”
Sloane rolled her eyes.